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But when Sunday night, our closed night, came, I found myself in my bathrobe in the kitchen, staring down the Hershey’s bottle. The phone rang, and even though I really, really hoped it was Gabriel, I was still contrary enough not to answer just in case it was Gabriel.
Instead, Mama’s voice echoed from my answering machine through my impossibly empty kitchen. “Jane, honey, it’s Mama. Daddy told me all about what happened with Gabriel. I don’t know why you told Daddy about it instead of me … but anyway, I think you just need to stop being silly and call him. It’s not like there are a lot of available vampires out there. And you two are so good together. Whatever Gabriel did, I think you just need to—”
The machine cut her off. God bless technology.
Before Mama could call back, Andrea and Jolene came barreling into the house like the cavalry, armed with DVDs; dessert blood, obviously for me; ice cream, obviously not for me; and wine, obviously not for Jolene. There was also an alarming assortment of junk food, including ready-made cheesecake filling in a tub, which I didn’t even know existed. And now that I was aware of it, I was extremely disgruntled that I couldn’t eat any of it. At the sight of this cornucopia of girlie comfort, I promptly burst into tears.
“I love you guys.” I sniffled. “I’m fine. I’m not crying ’cause of Gabriel. I just really love you guys.”
Jolene wrapped her arms around me and made soft wuffling noises as I snotted up her T-shirt. I had really good friends, girlfriends, which was something I’d never had in life. Somehow they complemented each other to form some sort of perfectly balanced break-up safety net.
“Aw, honey, it’s all right,” Jolene soothed. “He’s a bastard. Zeb was too busy mumblin’ empty threats to make it clear what Gabriel did, but he’s a bastard.”
“Oh, have we already reached the ‘calling Gabriel names’ portion of the festivities?” Andrea asked, returning to the kitchen with my corkscrew. “I thought we’d at least get her drunk and watch a movie first.”
“I thought we were supposed to get her drunk and put her panties in the freezer,” Jolene said, her pretty face scrunched in confusion.
“I think you’re mixing up your female-bonding customs,” I told her. “That’s ‘thirteen-year-olds at a sleepover,’ not ‘vampire boyfriend may or may not have cheated on you, but either way, he’s an emotionally unavailable asshat.’”
“Oh, how the hell am I supposed to keep up with all your weird human rituals?” She grunted, prying the lid off Ben and Jerry’s Mint Chocolate Cookie and digging in. “If this was a werewolf thing, we’d just go pee on his front porch so no other females would come near him for months.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I admitted.
I surveyed Andrea’s outfit of artfully worn jeans and what was obviously one of Dick’s T-shirts, advertising the joys of Hot Springs, Arkansas. “I thought you said you were getting rid of Dick’s tacky T-shirts.”
“Oh, this isn’t tacky, this is vintage,” she said, turning proudly to show off the way the shirt hugged her curves. “I put a seam here and there. It’s a little more tailored, so instant classic.”
I peered down at my own happy-face pajama pants and a baggy T-shirt advertising the annual 4-H Hog Call. “I hate you. What’d you bring?” I examined the stack of videos. “ Steel Magnolias and Beaches ? Are you trying to comfort me or get me to commit suicide?”
Jolene shrugged. “When I want an excuse to cry, I watch Steel Magnolias .”
“What about this one?” I held up a copy of 9 to 5 .
“I think Jolene got confused about the theme,” Andrea said. “But still, female empowerment, dosing your boss with rat poison. It could work.”
“I’m your boss,” I reminded her.
“That does pose a problem,” Andrea agreed as my eyes narrowed.
“Zeb said we should bring over the first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but Andrea thought you’d get all depressed,” Jolene told me.
“Yeah, because what’s the point of watching Buffy if you’re not watching the second-season episodes with Spike in them?” I asked, uncorking the bottle of wine. Andrea poured me a large glass. “Hmmm. I wonder if it would be unethical for me to turn James Marsters? And then force him to fake the Cockney accent? And then make him my love monkey?”
“Yes, the Council would probably notice that.” Andrea snorted.
“Frankly, I’m surprised some crazy, recently turned fan girl hasn’t already thought of it,” I muttered into my wine.
Andrea pulled a DVD case with a blank cover out of her purse. “I also brought this. It’s an unrated version of the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice, the Colin Firth version. Dick got it from one of his … sources. There’s a rumor that during the bath scene, you get an accidental peek at Mr. Darcy’s bum.”
“Oh, Lord, she’s crying again,” Jolene groaned as I gave her neck another moist hug.
I blubbered, “I’m just so happy!”
We indulged in buttoned-up Austenian dramedy for a few hours, consuming more calories than should be allowed by law. I painted my toes a bold eggplant, which Gabriel had always disliked. He said it made my feet look hypothermic. Thanks to her accelerated pregnancy, Jolene’s brief flirtation with crippling morning sickness was over. She polished off the Mint Chocolate Cookie and the Cherry Garcia but not the Chunky Monkey, which Andrea specifically chose because Jolene hated banana. I became concerned about Andrea’s wine-to-ice-cream consumption ratio and what sort of color she might turn my carpet if she got sick. But then I had a few glasses myself and just didn’t care. Fitz couldn’t decide whom he’d rather spurn me for, Andrea or Jolene, both of whom he adored. But since he had a better chance of Andrea sharing food with him, he snuggled up with Andrea.
“Do you consider yourselves Colin Firth girls or Colin Farrell girls?” Jolene asked, munching on her thousandth or so mini-Snickers as Mr. Darcy informed Elizabeth that he most ardently admired and loved her.
“Can’t I have both?” Andrea asked with a dreamy sort of leer. “One of them could run the video camera.”
